


Like the First Snow

by acorn_princess



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Angst, But there's still magic!, Drama & Romance, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Goblin (K-drama), Multi, POV Alternating, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25945171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acorn_princess/pseuds/acorn_princess
Summary: A scarred man haunted by his past and a resilient woman trapped by her destiny. A black-clad girl with no memory and the blue-eyed boy who whispers the secrets of life. Some stories last for for generations, but love transcends all else. A Zutara!Goblin AU.
Relationships: Azula/Ty Lee, Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Minor Azula/Sokka, Sokka/Suki (Avatar)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> This story is loosely based on the 2016 Korean Drama, Guardian: The Great and Lonely God (AKA Goblin). This won't follow the series exactly, but major plot points from the show are used in this story. If you've never seen the show, that's okay! This is one of those "everything is explained along the way" stories, so *hopefully* your questions will be answered by the end. If I complete this fic but you're still super confused, just bonk me on the head lol.  
> I really just want to bring my two favorite love stories together in the best way possible. I hope I succeed, and I hope ya'll enjoy the ride! <33  
> Also, I'll include specific trigger warnings in the chapters that require them, but the overall trigger warnings of this fic are death, suicide ideation, and conversations about existentialism and the after life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some names are fierce and evocative. Some caress and reassure. Some are just a whisper in the wind.

He’s tracing out the form of Wan Shi Tong in the sky when he hears it. Barely a whisper, but it’s there.

He’s at his regular spot on a bridge so high that he can almost touch the stars with the tips of his fingers. He sits at the top where his legs dangle over the intricate beams below him. 

Up here is where he feels closest to himself, a breath in the dark that can hold the entire city around him. 

But yes, the view  _ has  _ gotten old. 

Red and green dots of life mix and swirl on the roads below. A gunky river trudges under the concrete overpass with heaves and groans. Honking cars, shrieking laughter and heavy bass rhythms resonate up to him from the clubs nearby. At times, the sounds merge and crescendo to a jarring volume. It all exhausts him- the lights, the noise, the way everything changes but stays the same. But he watches anyway.

He grips a cigarette between his fingers with a quiet reminder not to drop it. And it’s when he raises his finger to trace through each bead of light that make up the great mythical owl that he first feels the whisper rush through his body. 

Everything in him freezes, a tight sort of pain one adjusts to after too many years of duty. He waits for the sensation to leave him and shakily brings the cigarette to his lips. As he inhales, the voice echoes through his bones, humming harmonies of his past. But the sound is so soft, so scrambled, that he wants to believe he misheard it.

But there it is again. Sharper, louder. A clear call for help.

And he sighs because all he wants is to be alone. But his life is no longer his own. It hasn’t been in a long time.

He leans back into his hands and notices too late what has slipped through his fingers. He watches the cigarette fall, rushing past the beams and toward a group of women stumbling their way to the other side of the bridge. He flicks his wrist and a breeze blows the burning object into the river. He will not let his recklessness be the cause of someone else’s pain, not again. Never again.

****

He might be too late. When he arrives, the woman is hardly breathing. He’s surprised she even found enough strength to call his name- his  _ cursed _ name. The one he is fated to bear as the centuries roll on and he loses more of himself with every day. 

The road is covered in snow that quietly melts under the shadows of brick buildings that surround it. The woman lay with her hair and limbs flung about. 

At first glance, one would think she’s making a snow angel in the solitude of the witching hour. But the rich red seeping into the white around her body tells a different story. 

He stands outside the diameter of her blood with his eyebrows low. Typical hit-and-run. And he’s definitely too late. He should head out before Death appears. The last thing he needs is a confrontation with another-

“P-please,” she says in a small voice. His mouth falls open, and he sinks down so he can get a closer look. Her glassy eyes catch his.

He knows too well how dying can be more painful for the victim when they are aware of the inevitable. So he holds her cheek with one hand and calls on the strength in him to alleviate her pain. She watches him. He lies to her gently, “Help is on the way.”

“No,” she says. He frowns, but she says nothing else. He continues his efforts, the flow of energy leaving his palm and entering her body. It’s useless, as her pain is too great to tone down, but he tries anyway. In the distance, he can still hear the honking and the music and the laughing. But it mutes as he focuses on the woman before him.

“I called you,” she says with more clarity. He stops and looks into her eyes. He’s struck by the cerulean color that twinkles under the streetlamp above, and how it contrasts her ochre skin. Her short breaths struggle against the navy choker around her neck. A light pendant falls between her collar bones, the waves etched into it moving on and on with every sharp intake. 

He wonders if he really has come upon an angel. 

Her eyes flicker to the left side of his face. “Your scar…” a tone of wonder colors her voice. And after all these years, he still winces under the scrutiny. “I was right,” she looks at him,  _ really _ looks at him, and he can feel her expectation in the air.

“I can’t help you,” he says. Part of him wants to go, leave her before Death arrives. But he feels trapped under her gaze. He knows she doesn’t hold any magical power, but something in her existence compels him.

“You must…you must…” But she struggles to speak. She quits her efforts and looks to the sky while her hand twitches beside him. He holds in a sigh and takes her hand. But slowly, weakly, she breaks out of his grip. His confusion lasts only for a moment before she sets her hand on her abdomen. “She..” The woman starts. He gasps.

He must have,  _ should _ have noticed earlier. It’s small, still in its early stages, but there is life growing inside her. He meets her eyes and her tears release.  _ Please _ , she mouths. 

His heart rate quickens as he realizes his purpose. Tendrils of adrenaline pluck at his veins as the presence of Death grows nearer.

“They will come back for you, you know...They’ll come back,” he warns, as  one can avoid Death once but never twice . But her eyes shout that she couldn’t give a damn. They demand that he save the life of her child. So he does.

  
  


_ Kya, 26 _

_ Time of Death: 11:27 pm _

_ Unknown _

_ Time of Death: 11:27 pm _

Suki squints at the road before her and then at the name cards in her hands, the bright red text glowing under the streetlamp. “What the fuck?” 

She surveys the area. There’s an uneven circle of blood in the snow, but there’s not a single body in sight. Nothing else is out of the ordinary. The lamps flicker as they’re supposed to, the wind moves in the right direction, and her figure remains invisible as a man exits a building several meters away and journeys into the darkness of the alley.

Everything is as it should be. She adjusts the black fedora on her head, thankful for the privacy it provides, and reads the cards again. Right place, right time, but no people. She studies the scene once more and groans.

“Bumi’s going to  _ end _ me.”

  
  



	2. Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Katara's big day. She runs into some friends, old and new, good bad. She learns that there are some things she doesn't ever want to understand. Trigger Warning: Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah this took longer than I thought it would. It really kicked my butt. This chapter still isn't where I want it to be, but I'm ready to move on. If any parts confuse you, feel free to let me know! I can be super vague in my storytelling. And I'm intentionally holding back some info for this story because I want y'all to learn as you go on, but I don't want you to be completely lost.  
> If you enjoy this chapter, please leave a comment with your thoughts cause I need an ego boost. Even if you didn't enjoy it, leave a comment so I can brag about my work receiving comments.  
> And I'm sending love to everyone reading this. Our world is a mess and it's frustrating and terrifying. Art has been bringing me so much comfort lately, and I hope my wild story idea and sporadic updates can grant you some comfort. <3

_9 Years Later_

It’s Katara’s birthday- her ninth birthday, to be exact. 

Though Sokka can never get her to admit it outright, she  _ loves  _ birthdays. Especially hers. She loves the crinkle in her mom's eyes when they bring out the cake and her dad’s ear-shattering laughter when her mom gets out of tune. Sokka’s there, too, which is sometimes okay. 

The best part of school -aside from her science class- is having a weekday birthday. Sure, you can’t spend the day at Sea L. Jerky’s, but the  _ whole _ class has to pay attention to you! And yes, Katara appreciates the singing and the laughing and the cards. Her mom even gives her those store-bought cupcakes to share with everyone (but she made sure Sokka didn’t get one- last year, he ate half the box!).

This excitement thrums though her even as she skips through the crunchy snow on the crosswalk leading away from school. Sokka has hockey practice on Thursdays so she walks alone. But her parents trust her to get home safely on the seven minute walk.

Because of Sokka’s newly developed crush on Yue in Katara’s homeroom, she’s been granted access to a Yue’s entire friend group who allow her to walk with them even when Sokka isn’t around. Katara still isn’t close with the others (and at this point, she’s starting to think that Yue isn’t, either), but this school year she’s found herself gravitating toward Yue’s quiet kindness and goes out of her way to accompany the snow-haired girl throughout school. 

Katara waits for her now, settling by the gray house across the street with bubbles of excitement in her tummy. The home sits above her, balancing on cement stilts that dig deep into the ground. She can see the ocean beyond the cliff she crawls toward. She watches the bitter waves rush to and from the edge of the Southern Water Tribe. The sandy rocks glitter in the sunshine. Their blinding reflection reminds Katara of Yue, again, with her stunning hair and chilling eyes. She most looks forward to the quiet moment after the others filter away where she and Yue can talk on the way to their neighboring houses. 

Glowing white hair catches her eye across the way, and as soon as she straightens and fixes her beaded loops of hair Yue is upon her. Her smile is soft and warm, the kind that is reserved only for Katara.

“Hey…!” Yue fiddles with something between her large blue mittens, its intricate design of white and silver threads reflecting light into Katara’s eyes. Katara giggles. 

“Hey..?” Katara glances pointedly at Yues hands then back to her eyes. A sense of giddiness, maybe dizziness, takes over as she notices the pretty blush forming on Yue’s face. 

Yue shifts from side to side. “Well.. I wanted to get you something for your birthday, but I didn’t really know what to get,” she frowns and looks down, “but I know you like peanut butter cookies, so I thought if I made it look nice then you’d like it. But…” She shakes her head and opens her hands. “Here,” she presents the gift under Katara’s nose.

Even through the plastic wrapping the scent of the peanutty goodness wafts up to her nostrils. When Katara looks down, she gasps at the detail. Inside the plastic are three large cookies, two made to look like Yue and Katara with starry eyes, and the third is a full and smiling moon. There are smaller cookies inside the bag, shaped like stars and dyed yellow. Katara’s eyebrows raise.

“Wow… Yue…” She looks up to the girl who avoids her eyes. Without thinking, Katara dives in for a hug, her nose snuggling the white furs of Yue’s hoodie. “Thank you so so much. It’s beautiful!”

“Really?” Yue hugs back, and Katara can hear the smile in her voice. 

“Really!” Katara carefully sets the bag inside the pocket of her backpack. She falls into giggles with Yue, who loops her arm through Katara’s and leads the way home. Katara tugs at her half-heartedly with a puzzled look. “Uh, don’t you want to wait for the rest of the group?”

Yue pulls her forward and smiles at the road ahead. “I want to walk with you, today.” 

Katara’s mouth falls open for a moment, then releases a triumphant laugh. She starts with a half-jog, half-skip across the street, dragging a shrieking Yue behind her. They reach the other side, earning glares from the cross-guards and student patrols, but they’re too lost in their joy to notice. 

In their chaos, Katara falls into a pile of snow by the sidewalk, bringing Yue down with her. They roll through into the slush and loudly proclaim their disgust at the greying snow. They pull each other up, Yue pulling clumps out of Katara’s hair and Katara brushing flakes off of Yue’s coat.

“Oh, no,” Yue whispers. Katara whips around and meets the silver glare of a crossing guard, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a wagging finger. 

Katara grips Yue’s hand and breaks into a sprint. “Let’s go before she catches us!”

Though the prospect of the guard sending them home with a behavioral report terrifies them both, they can’t help but laugh between gasps and footsteps. Like their happiness is their power, their defense against corrupt authority trying to tear them apart.

And, in this moment, it is.

In their rush, they take the secluded path toward the empty yellow house. Quiet and easy to miss, it has become a familiar and disquieting marker to Katara. Unlike most of the homes in their village, it succumbs to the forest behind it instead of leaning toward the body water. It sits lower to the ground, sinking due to years of neglect. By the time she realizes where they are, it is too late.

She stumbles to a stop, and Yue slows ahead.

“What are you doing?” White hair flows with Yue’s gasping breaths. “She’s still behind us!” 

But Katara is locked in something Yue cannot see. Something she could never understand.. 

Katara meets Yue’s wide blue eyes, shaded with concern. An ugly feeling festers in her stomach. A reminder of her curse. 

No matter how much she wishes she could be normal, she never will be. Even in this newfound friendship, she must hide what she is. The birthmark on the back of her neck begins to burn, and she rubs at it quickly.

“Go without me,” Katara whispers. She shifts to avoid the hurt in Yue’s eyes but her chest still stings. 

“...But,” Yue glances between Katara and the empty house before them. The overgrown weeds shrink and suffocate the face of the building. Katara continues to rub her neck.

“I have to do something,” she says to the ground. 

“Will… will I see you later, at least? At your party?” Yue chews on a clump of her white hair, a habit Katara knows she’s been trying to break to no avail. 

“Yeah, of course,” Katara gives her a lopsided smile, “I’ll see you there.”

Yue waits for a moment, perhaps hoping that Katara will say more. When the silence sinks deeper, she nods. “Okay,” she looks to the creaking shutters of the house then back at Katara, “Okay.”

She leaves.

It is not until Katara sees Yue disappear into the next block that she turns to the spirit at the entrance of the creaking home. 

“What do you want, Meng?” She glares at the girl in faded pink, with plaited hair reaching toward the sky.

Meng shrugs with an apologetic look. “Sorry. She wants to see you.” 

Katara lets out a frustrated groan and stomps in the snow. “Can’t she wait another day?” 

Meng shakes her head. “It’s gotta be today. C’mon,” she starts down the path behind the yellow house that disappears into the forest. Katara follows. 

“Did you ever find that box?” Meng glances back at Katara, who avoids her eyes. 

“Uh, I haven’t really had the time, yet,” she adjusts the straps of her backpack. Meng turns away and nods.

“Oh,” she says softly, “okay.” 

They continue down the unkempt path. Katara’s boots sink further and further into the snow. Light breezes shake flakes out of the branches above and they fall free. She feels lost in the miniature blizzards created in their descent. She pulls at the zipper of her coat to protect her neck against the specs of ice.

“I mean, it’s right behind the house. Under the oak tree, like I said. I can go with you sometime if you don’t want to go alone,” Meng’s voice rises in pitch, feigning a light and cheery tone. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Katara mutters, “But, why can’t you do it? You’re always there, anyway.”

Meng halts and turns around. “I can’t do anything, remember?” She waves a hand through Katara’s face as a reminder. It sends chills through her body, a wave of wrongness courses through her. She steps back and brushes a hand over her face out of habit. Meng’s shoulders slump. “It has to be you. You’re the only one that can see us.” She continues walking. “And I’m not always here.”

A shaky breath steadies Katara, and she starts behind Meng. “Where are you when you aren’t here?”

Meng’s eyes lower to the ground. Katara follows her gaze, watching each step the girl takes in the snow, leaving no sound and no footprint. She decides not to press on.

They walk in silence, taking in the cawing birds and icy wind. Then, they come upon a park.

“I can’t go any further,” Meng turns to Katara with a sad smile. “Don’t forget about the box, okay?”

Katara nods despite herself. She can’t help every spirit that comes to her for help, accosting her in supermarkets and school gyms. But maybe she should help Meng. 

“I won’t.”

The pink girl disappears into the wind. 

Katara waits in the snow and clutches her sides for warmth. She steps into the park and takes in its emptiness. A frozen pond beyond her sits in solitude. She feels drawn to it, but before she can reach the boardwalk, a sharp breeze flings her hair beads into her face. She rubs at her eyes to soothe the pain. When her hands lower, she takes in the woman before her.

Katara sighs. “Hi, Mrs. Toph.”

The blind, almost senile woman cringes. The wrinkles multiply on her face, and the hair hastily wrapped in an old green ribbon droops down with them.

“I told you, I ain’t married! Just call me Toph, damn it,” she strikes her walking cane on the ground for emphasis. Mrs. Toph huffs and extends her arm, enveloped in a puffy emerald sleeve. “Care to walk an old woman to the other side of the park?” 

She accepts Mrs. Toph’s arm and they make their way through the park. Though Katara’s snuck here at least a million times, she can’t help but marvel at the beauty the park holds in each season. 

Today, it is an ice kingdom. 

Benches are blanketed in perfect white snow, and some muddy snowmen are built along the path. A couple of squirrels sit at the top of a hill near her, munching on something before separating and scrambling up a tree together. And each branch of the tall and bare trees offers her a unique view of the heavy grey sky. A group of geese pass over, honking and struggling to maintain their structure in the wind. Katara leans closer to Mrs. Toph for warmth. They pass by the boulder with names of park donors engraved in gold. Katara would usually go out of her way to learn their names as she is grateful to them for creating such a beautiful space. But she gave up after the third “Bei Fong”. 

Mrs. Toph stops, and Katara realizes they are at the frozen pond at the center of the park.

“This is my favorite spot,” Katara says, and she’s not quite sure why she says it. 

“Good. It’s a very powerful spot,” Mrs. Toph lifts her chin to the wind and breathes in. They stay like that for a while; Katara trying to look for movement under the ice, Mrs. Toph breathing in the wind. 

“You need to hold on,” the older woman says, and Katara turns to her in pure confusion.

“I am holding on,” Katara wiggles her arm against Mrs. Toph as an example, which causes the woman to laugh.

“No, no, I mean here,” Mrs. Toph unravels herself from the girl and places a hand over her own heart, patting it a few times. Her hand snakes around Katara’s head and lands on the birthmark just below the hairline. “You remember what this means?”

Katara nods, unsure of where this conversation is going. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Um,” Katara’s face scrunches as she tries to recall Mrs. Toph’s words. The woman leans back and crosses her arms as if she’s scrutinizing the young girl. Katara recites the phrases she’s been told over the years. “It means that I am connected to spirits and humans. That I am destined to rebuild the bridge between both worlds. And I’m the Goblin’s wife.”

“Good. Do you know what all that means?”

“No, not really.”

Mrs. Toph barks. “At least you’re honest!” 

“I know it’s why I can see spirits, but nothing else makes sense.”

“That’s okay.” Mrs. Toph ruffles Katara’s hair, and Katara immediately tries to fix it. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Old people  _ always _ say that,” Katara smoothes down her hair and grips the straps of her backpack. 

“Because it’s true,” the older woman says, and before Katara can blink the woman bends down to her eye level. “Listen. You have an important duty ahead of you. And you will lose a lot. A. Lot,” she squeezes Katara’s shoulders, “But you are powerful enough to get through it. You will  _ need _ to be powerful enough to get through it. I’m sorry to ask that of you, but it’s necessary. So that hope and strength inside of you? I need you to hold on to that. No matter what.  You can lose everything else, but  _ never _ your hope. Alright?”

For a moment, Katara is breathless. It’s as though those absent white eyes are actually looking at her, as if they can see her and her entire being. But that’s not possible. Right?

“Okay,” Katara forces the word out of her mouth.

“Good,” the woman straightens and offers her arm, “Let’s get going.” 

****

The first thing Katara notices when she reaches her front door is the window blinds. Rain or shine, her mother loves to bask in the natural light when she’s home. “It cleanses our home and our family,” she always says. 

The blinds are closed.

So she must be out running an errand. But even then, she would never leave Katara alone. There is the chance that she’s picking up the cake she forgot at the bakery, or there’s a surprise party inside and Gran-Gran is there and…

A pearly grin grows on Katara’s face. She pulls on the  purple lanyard attached to her backpack and uses the key at its end to unlock the door. 

The second thing Katara notices is the frigid air inside her home. 

Her father is quite frugal when it comes to air conditioner and heater usage, but never this extreme. Somehow, the foyer is colder than the air outside her home. Katara waves away the puffs of air that leave her nostrils and rubs her hands together. “Mom?” 

A bird chirps outside and the wind encourages a creek in the attic. Katara closes the door behind her and places her backpack to the side. She starts inside, squeaks, and then plops on the floor and wrenches off her snow boots. She’s already anticipating a lecture on tardiness, no need to tack on another one about tracking snow through the house! She leans over and stuffs the boots in the coat closet, her hand running over the soft rug under her filled with intricate lines of blue and white. 

“Katara?” 

Katara shoots up. “Mommy?”

“Katara, sweetie, can you come here?” Her mother calls from the kitchen and Katara is there in less than a second.

The third thing Katara notices is her mom’s puffy eyes. But she’s not sure what they mean.

“Mom?” She says, much softer and filled with endless questions. 

Kya, a fierce storm of reprimands and forehead kisses contained in one person, sits at the kitchen table with her hands in her lap. She’s bundled in her winter clothes as if she just got home. Her thinning cinnamon hair is pulled back into a low ponytail and her seashore eyes hold all the answers in the world.

Katara hopes she looks like her mother when she’s older.

Wrinkles form around Kya’s eyes as a smile graces her face. “Happy birthday, my dear,” she says in a way that fills Katara’s shivering figure with warmth. Her mom nods to the seat across from her and Katara sits down with her hands folded on the table.

“How was your day?”

“Uh, ” Katara thinks back to her recent encounters. Though her parents are aware of her… abilities, she knows how uncomfortable it makes them, so she tries not to bring it up around them. She decided to focus on the better parts of her day. “It was awesome!” and her birthday excitement returns with every word, “They loved the cupcakes you bought and we painted otter-penguins in art and the  _ entire _ cafeteria sang me happy birthday and-”

“That’s wonderful, sweetie,” there’s a squint in Kya’s eyes as her smile tightens, “I am so happy that you had such a great day. You deserve it. You deserve every great day.”

The warmth inside Katara kindles a small fire, and she zips off her coat in the joy of her mother’s presence.

“Sweetie,” Kya says after a moment, “why don’t we celebrate right now? Just for a little bit?” the eagerness in her voice prevents Katara from frowning, but the young girl feels even smaller in this moment of confusion.

“Well… what about Dad? And Sokka?” She knows Sokka would throw a tantrum if he missed out on cake since she hid the cupcakes from him all day.

“It’ll be quick. A small celebration just for the girls,” her mother says with a twinkle in her eye. Katara giggles and nods, their list of “just for the girls” things growing longer with each day. “Good. Can you grab the cake from the freezer? And the candles in the mug cabinet?” She speaks over Katara who already rummages through the kitchen, “Oh, and do you know where the matches are?” 

This makes Katara whip around with wide eyes. “I can use the matches?” 

“Of course. You’re a big girl now, Katara. I trust you,” Kya says Katara’s three favorite words (in that particular order). Maybe her mother’s eyes are glassy, but Katara can’t see through the fireworks exploding in her head. She’s a big girl! She can do big girl things!

She hurries back to the table just barely balancing the three items in her tiny hands. She sets them in the middle of the table and takes the lid off the cake. 

“You got the five layer ice cream cake?!” Katara can’t help but jump up and down, this is truly her best birthday ever. 

“That’s your favorite, right?” 

“Yes Yes Yes!” 

“Good,” Kya says with relief, “Now put the candles on, quickly,” and her daughter places nine candles in a neat circle, “Do you remember how to use the matches?”

Katara has watched her parents use them a million times. The tiny flame that bursts into life with one quick movement fascinated her endlessly. She knows how to do it. One by one, she lights the candles, peeking at her mother and enjoying the look of approval she receives.

“Good,” Kya’s voice is quieter now, a whisper of all the life she holds. “What will you wish for?”

Katara gives her mom a look. “You know I can’t tell you that!” And Katara smiles, because she knows she doesn’t need a wish, anyway. She blows the candles out and looks to her mom through the smoke.

The fourth thing Katara notices is that her mom is crying.

The fifth thing Katara notices is that her mom is a ghost.

Kya’s body shakes violently as she takes in her daughter’s realization. Her mouth forms no word.

“Mom?” Katara says, and she can feel the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Mom? What’s happening?”

“Sweetie,” her mother chokes out, “I’m so sorry.”

Katara backs away from the table. “No.”

Kya reaches out to her. “Baby. Baby, I don’t have a lot of time left.” 

Katara instinctively goes to hold her mother’s hands, but her own fingers pass right through. She wheezes and covers her eyes with her hands.

“Katara, I know, I know,” she says in the tone she uses when she strokes Katara’s hair, “But please, listen. I love you. I  _ love you _ , and that’s never going to change, no matter what. You are  _ so _ strong. You are  _ so  _ fierce and so full of hope and I pray you hold on to that. You are powerful, my girl,” she tries to reach for her daughter again but her arms fall back to her lap. “Please take care of your father and your brother. I am so sorry to ask you that, but they’ll need you,” her voice cracks near the end, and Katara lowers her hands to watch her mom with blurry eyes and tortured features. 

“My sweet girl, my darling,” Kya whispers with the most loving smile and fearful eyes. “ I hope you’ll forgive me for leaving you like this,” she holds up her hands to frame Katara’s face as if she’s looking at a photograph of a distant memory. “I hope you’ll let yourself live.”

All Katara can do is watch the fading image of her mother. She runs through a million scenarios in her mind explaining why this dream feels so much like reality, but they all fall short when she looks into her mother’s eyes and watches them lose their light.

Her mother gasps and reaches for her neck. “My necklace,” she says, and Katara imagines the blue choker that holds the sea and tries to ignore her mother struggling to speak. “Gran-Gran’s necklace. It’s yours,” she strokes her hand over the phantom necklace. “It’s yours,” her face twists and she forces it back to neutral.

Kya exhales and brings her eyes back to her daughter who’s cursed to watch her mother fade away. “I love you, Katara. And I’m here,” she places her hand on her heart, “I’m always here.”

Katara blinks and her mother’s gone. 

Her whole body shakes. She looks at the cake, the kitchen, her home. Her cries echo through the house. She spots the family portrait across the table from their last visit to Ba Sing Se. Her mother seems to look her right in the eyes, soft and knowing and regretful.

No, she can’t be here anymore. And before she knows it, she’s out the front door, knees and socks sinking into the snow as she lets her sobs free. But she can’t even mourn in peace. 

“Leave her alone,” someone says in front of her. Katara recognizes the voice but can’t bring herself to look and identify it.

“I have to finish what I came here for,” another voice says. 

“Haven’t you done enough?” The first voice says with enough ferocity to cause Katara to glance up. It’s Mrs. Toph. What’s Mrs. Toph doing here? Katara looks around her to find a young woman dressed in all black, short red hair whipping around her stormy brown eyes.

The woman adjusts the black hat on her head. “I’m just doing my job.  _ You _ , of all the beings in existence, should understand that.”

“I do,” Mrs. Toph says, “But we need her,” the younger woman shakes her head.

“It doesn’t matter. I lost her before and I won’t lose her again.”

Mrs. Toph steps forward, and something about her presence makes the young woman take a step back. “You will lose her again and again until I say you can take her.”

Then, her face controts with torture, a gasp catches in her throat. Her knees wobble and her hands cling to her forehead and try to claw something out.

With a sharp breeze, she stops. She slows her breathing and takes a step back, fingers digging into her palms. She watches Mrs. Toph now with wide eyes that swirl with terror and rage. She peeks behind Mrs. Toph and frowns at the young girl in the snow. Katara lowers her gaze to her hands, burning red and gripping the ice forming beneath her. 

“I’ll be back for her,” the woman says.

“And I’ll be there to stop you,” Mrs. Toph takes another step forward and the woman vanishes with a rush of snow. Mrs. Toph turns back to Katara and pulls her up. “Get inside and stay there,” she says quickly. Katara can hardly feel the snow soaking through her socks, the sharp brush of air on her skin, but she musters the strength to turn back. 

She closes the door behind her and falls to her hands and knees. She dry heaves, her eyes and throat burning to push out the pain threading its way to her heart. 

She’s not sure how much time has passed when she hears the garage door open. 

“Katara?” She rises at the sound of her dad’s voice. He enters the foyer with Sokka in tow. She can see her pain reflected in their glassy eyes. “Katara,” her father says softly. He falls to the floor in front of her. His hands find her cheeks and he looks into her eyes. His deep breaths force a calm exterior before he squeezes his eyes shut and places his forehead on hers. She feels his tears on her cheeks. 

“Something terrible has happened.”

* * *

_ Interlude  _

He doesn’t usually go to bars. Actually, he never goes to bars. But today, he’s settling into a new home and has the taste for the only beverage he lacks there: beer. A relatively simple alcoholic drink in his opinion. He has vague memories of another world where he’d sit and laugh with friends in their heavy warrior uniforms and make bets on who would vomit first. 

He was a different man then.

And today, for the first time in at least a century, he craves that feeling again. Though he will be lacking in company, the flavor may unlock some memories- some, which is more than the few he currently obtains. He tries not to dwell on the life he had before, and whatever action he did to deserve his fate. But tonight he is as tired as he is lonely.

And so, beer.

He sits at the end of the bar, careful to keep his scar the shadows. Though humans have become more accepting of varying appearances over the years, some still gawk at the uneven and discolored skin on the left side of his face. The thing is, he can barely remember how he even got it. But on the mornings where it’s the first thing he touches before rising, he shocks himself with the shame and self-disgust that fills his gut. 

The bartender places the beer in front of him without a glance. The scarred man watches the thinning crowd and brings the glass to lips. With a small sip, his face contorts with disgust. 

This is _ not _ how he remembered the taste of beer.

“This seat taken?” An older voice calls over the bass of the overhead speakers. His eyes flash up to a woman who is far too old to be in the vicinity. She dusts snow off of her green winter attire and sits on the stool beside him. In the dusty red lighting of the room he notices her distant eyes and chaotic manner. Wisps of black hair crawl over her green headband and frame her pale and wrinkled face.

“A bourbon, stat!” She says to the bartender with an added thump from her walking cane. The scarred man peeks around her to get a better view. Etchings and swirls design the wooden stick; at least, that’s all they look like to young and untrained eyes. 

The bartender places a glass in front of the green woman and raises a brow. “On his tab?”

“Of course,” she says and chugs half her drink. She wipes droplets off with her sleeve and turns to her bar partner with a surprising amount of precision. He watches her for a short moment. 

“Where’d you get that cane?” The man who ducks in the shadows says in a sudden show of extroversion. The words flow out of his mouth in an elated sort of rush elicited by her very presence. He wonders if she’s holding back her true power. 

“Where’d you get that scar?” She returns, and a sudden sting fills his core. He glares at her before realizing how useless the attempt is. Unless…

“Can you actually see me?” He asks earnestly. 

The woman barks with laughter. “You really have forgotten, huh?” She takes a small sip of her drink and crunches ice cubes in her mouth. “No, I can’t actually see you,” she garbles, “I can’t see anything. But I know you. I know your presence from hundreds of miles away.” 

He gives a slow nod and wipes off condensation on his glass. “So I used to know you.”

“Something like that.”

He watches his hand tighten around his glass, careful not to crack it but adding enough pressure to ground himself. He thinks of his life before- or what he can remember. Snow. Laughter. Cinder. Blood. But there’s a single, minuscule thread that weaved through those moments and led to his sin. His curse. But he has yet to find it. “Who was I to you?” 

The woman lightly places her fingers around his clenched hand. “Who were you to me? That doesn’t matter anymore. Who you are to me, from now on? That’s more important,” she takes his hand off the glass. “So you better make a good impression, because you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.” 

He frowns at the woman who seems to see nothing and everything at the same time. “So you followed me here. Are you watching me?” 

“Not everything is about you,” she says with a smile. Wrinkles multiplied on her face, and he tries to see what she really is underneath. “But I will be watching over someone. Someone very important.”

“Do I know them?”

She squeezes his hand before returning her attention to her drink. “No, not yet,” she takes a swig and takes hold of her cane. “But there is something you must know before we get to that,” she takes a breath, “You don’t remember your real name, do you?”

His heart jumps to his throat and his eyes follow the movement of the cane. He shakes his head. 

“We’re approaching a tumultuous period that affects both the human and spirit realm,” her voice takes on a quality coated in power, “You are the bridge. We will need you, but you can only succeed if you know what you need to do. Can you read this?” She brings the cane closer to his widened eyes. The lines jump and stir beneath his gaze, but, slowly, they align to create characters. “I’m sure you haven’t used the language of Agni in almost a millennium, but it should be clear enough for you. It should spell out your name. Your  _ true _ name.”

His heart is seconds from jumping out of his chest. He strains his eyes to see what characters are being created from a language he can hardly remember. A glow begins to highlight the lines, and his eyes jump around the room before realizing that the humans didn’t notice. This glow was for him and him only. His hand grabs one side of the cane in excitement as he starts to recognize the characters and their curves. His name, his  _ real _ name will now be known to him. And his memories to follow. But does he want to know what he’s done? What’s been done to him? Is he even ready? 

The lines stop moving and emit a flash lifts his hair from his face. He reads the name aloud,

“Goblin?” He blinks a few times and tries again, “It just says… Goblin?” He looks up to the woman who scrunches her face in disappointment.

“That’s all it says?” She whacks the cane against the bar counter, shocking the bartender who yells at her to cut it out. “Read it again.”

“...It just says Goblin.”

The woman frowns and runs her hands over the lines of the characters. “Well, I guess a man has many names. Just thought it’d show you one I didn’t already know.”

“Wait-”

The woman waves her hand in annoyance. “I better get going,” she hops off the seat with surprising agility. “Nice seeing you again,  _ Goblin _ ,” then she turns to the rest of the bar, arms wide and voice loud, “Drinks on the house!”

The man jumps at the sudden crowd of people who cheer at her declaration. They surround the bar, the serving area, even huddling around the entrance to hide from the cold. Did he lose track of time, or was this another show of her power? Either way she disappears into the sea of thick coats before he can get her to rescind her statement. He finishes his beer in defeat, looking back to where the woman and her magical cane disappeared.

Long ago, he tried to rid himself of the cursed name, shaking off its stain after he helped those who called for his aid. He took on pseudonyms, forming different personas every few decades. For the last few centuries, he’s preferred to go by no name at all, distancing himself from humanity and transience as much as possible. Now, as he grasps feebly for the remnants of his past, he allows the name to etch into the very being of his soul.

_ Goblin _ . 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Who Are You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories are not always a good thing. A glimpse inside a life short-lived. Friendships are forged. Trigger Warning: Death, Suicide Ideation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're ignoring how long it took me to write this. Anyway, here's wonderwall.

_She trudged through the snowy garden, a sting in her chest growing stronger with each step. But she couldn’t stop until she reached the totem at the front gate. Once she had it, everything would fall into place._

_But her legs grew weaker and her heart was close to giving out. Drops of red trickled down her emerald sleeves and dyed the frozen crystals beneath her. She knew she should be doing more to cover her blood path, but she couldn’t bring herself to wipe the liquid away. Was it exhaustion? Fear? Or could it be that maybe, just maybe, a small part of her wanted to be found?_

_“What… what are you?” A voice beyond her said._

_She turned, her veins turning to ice that stung and shocked her with every move, and she met the eyes of the man who found her. The man who will always find her._

_He still wore the armor of battle, silvers and whites and blues painted the skin beneath his canine mask. He leaned on the hip of his sword, which sunk into the chunk of snow turned red in her honor. Puffs of breath came through the fangs of the mask that both taunted and terrified her._

_“What happened to you?” It took a great deal of effort for him to say that, for his balance shifted and he fell to the ground in agony. He groaned and sobbed and the woman watched him through falling snowflakes._

_Red. Everything was turning red. Her skin, the snow, and the seizing man before her._

_She turned back to the totem to complete her mission._

“You got a busy day ahead of you.”

Suki blinks and looks up at the voice of Lu Ten, standing tall with a tailored black suit and iced coffee in hand. It takes her a moment to crawl out of the cloudy and consuming vision. If he notices her confusion, he doesn’t show it. 

She lets herself take in the bustling office, the black uniforms, the window beside her seat, and the neatly piled name cards on her sleek grey desk. Her black fedora hangs on a hook on her cubicle. 

She straightens her hat. “As if I haven’t been punished enough,” she replies. He scoffs and purses his lips, a joke on the tip of his tongue that neither of them actually want to acknowledge. With the shake of his head, he takes a seat in the cubicle beside her. He sets his drink down on his desk, which is almost identical to Suki’s aside from the fact that it is devoid of any paperwork whatsoever. 

“Seriously?” Suki’s squeaks, “Nothing? When was the last time you even had to work?”

He shrugs. “Honestly, it’s been pretty slow for the rest of the office. You’re the only one with constant clients. I’m starting to think Bumi actually hates you,” he says, and he tries to form an apologetic smoulder with his eyes. But he snickers, so she punches his shoulder.

“Shut up.” Suki turns back to the cards on his desk. “He just has me pick up your slack because I’m actually good at my job.”

“Yeah, sure, or he’s still mad at you for fucking up that one-... sorry,” he cringes at her flaming glare. She turns back to her notes, pen poised for aggressive note taking, then sighs.

“It wasn’t my fault.” 

He looks back at her, a true apology in his eyes, and gives a slow nod. “I know. But more people would believe you if you just told us what really happened.”

She thinks back to the young girl in blue kneeling in the snow with chattering teeth. She thinks of her fierce protector in green who masquerades as a human, with wrinkles holding all the secrets in existence and hair sparking with fettered energy. The milky eyes containing universes. 

One look into them unlocked something in Suki; a memory, she is sure, which is -or should be- impossible. Unthinkable. And yet, that creature dove deep into Suki’s soul and pulled out something she no longer thought existed. It has haunted her since. 

Suki frowns. She couldn’t begin to explain that even if she wanted to. 

She splays out the name cards on her desk and carefully reads through every name, time, and place. She plans her schedule on her notepad, scratching shorthand characters as her hand begins to cramp.

The two sit in silence, her writing and him awkwardly slurping his drink. Elevators ding and small groups form to talk about their assignments for the day. 

Then, a soft hum emits in their small corner of the office. It lasts for only a moment, and is followed by the appearance of a name card above Lu Ten’s desk.

“Oh! Oh!” He says in excitement and snatches the card out of the air. His hair flutters in the movement, the gentle style brushing against his cheekbones as he holds the card up to Suki.

“See? I can be trusted!” His tone holds such pure joy that Suki can’t help but smile. She tries to cover it by rolling her eyes.

“Sure, sure. It’s a pity assignment,” she says with the wave of her hand. But it’s sweet how genuine he is. She knows, deep down, that he actually cares about this job and the people. It confuses her endlessly, because how can a man with so much empathy end up in a place like this? What could he have possibly done?

“Who do you think this guy is?” Lu Ten puts on his most serious, most judgy look and keeps the card in Suki’s line of view. She leans over and squints at the card.

“Xin Fu?” She starts, giving into the little game they created long ago, a game that held more meaning than they’d ever admit. “Hm. It sounds like he’d come from a stuffy and rich family, but I think he’s skeevy.”

“Skeevy?”

“Yeah, skeevy.” Suki playfully taps at her chin, eyes lifted to elaborate on the story. “A conman, more like.”

“Go on,” Lu Ten’s eyebrows raise with intrigue as he sips his drink, ice rattling against the cup.

“So, he got a little bored with his suffocating but easy living and got caught up in some low-level schemes. Drugs, maybe. But every scheme gave him more and more of a thrill and before he knew it, he was addicted.”

Lu Ten gasps and motions for her to continue.

“It began to escalate to robbery, bounty hunting, and, eventually, murder.”

“Is that how he died?” Lu Ten says, belatedly covering his mouth as he realizes the volume of his voice and the attention it’s attracting. Several coworkers turn toward them, and Suki faces the window to cover her laughter.

“No,” she stifles another giggle, “No, that’s not how he died. On his latest scheme, he was supposed to capture this kid and bring them to some rich family in the area. But the person outsmarted him and left him for dead. Turns out, the kid was his long lost sister being returned to his family.”

Lu Ten nods with approval and silently claps. “You’re too good at this.”

Suki bows her head. “Thank you, thank you, I’m here for all of eternity.” This makes them laugh a little too loudly, and they’re quickly silenced by the questioning glares from their colleagues. 

Lu Ten turns on the computer at his desk and digs up research on his client. Suki does the same, making sure to note significant events and actions on each person. Any traumas endured and inflicted, loves that come and go. 

Her desk phone rings, a dull and muffled sound. She puts it on speaker while she finishes writing a sentence. Before she can offer a greeting, the caller speaks.

“Bumi wants to see you, pronto.”

The dial tone drones. The two turn to each other, slowly and awkwardly. Lu Ten shrugs and gives a half-hearted smile. 

“Maybe he wants to reward your remarkable work ethic?” But it’s obvious that even he doesn’t believe his own words. Suki clicks the receiver and grabs her things. With a deep breath, she unsuccessfully tries to push down the dread clawing at her core.

****

The walk to Bumi’s office is not an easy one. It’s in a separate department of the building, exclusive and isolated. To have access to his office, one must first be invited. Then, and only then, they will be able to press the “B” button on the elevator. From there, the shaft will rise to the top floor, an unknown number as people lose count after floor 30. 

The elevator will open to a narrow, dark, hallway. There is no light switch. The invitee must walk down the hallway until they reach the dim light of the glowing crystals. The rocks will color the ceiling in greens and blues and guide them to their destination.

And they must be sure to avoid the doors along their way. There will be many exits and shortcuts presented to them on the journey. But the invitee must ignore the distractions and stay on their path. No matter what they hear. No matter what they see. 

When they safely arrive at the end of the hallway, they will rap on the door labelled _Organizer Bumi_. And, if the man is in a pleasant mood, he will open the door. 

****

The two have been in silence for almost five minutes. As soon as Suki entered, Bumi silently began to investigate a purple crystal on his ceiling. Suki, knowing that she’s on thin ice and was given the honor of entering Bumi’s office either as a sign of goodwill or a reprieve before a more severe sentence, decides to keep her mouth shut. 

They stand in his main office, which is one of several rooms (Suki peaked around the corner as soon as she got in) in what seems to be some sort of presidential suite styled office. 

Papers litter his low, mahogany table, written in a language she can’t understand. She rests on her knees beside it, mindful not to touch his mess but itching for the fragrant cup of black tea that appears before her. She doesn’t know if the tea is a metaphor for willpower or if it’s simply poisoned, so she holds off on drinking it.

She studies the crystals that light the room; greens and blues and golds and pinks mixing into each other to make up the curved ceiling. She’s never seen anything like it, it’s as if this room was built into a cave. Or a cave was built into the room? Maybe it’s just a fully furnished cave. 

Shelves built into the sturdy walls showcase multicolored geodes and stone carved figurines. Large scrolls paintings depicting ancient landscapes and battles decorate the perimeter of the room. For as much light as the crystals provide, Suki has difficulty focusing on the scenes. They seem to shift before her eyes, as if different shades of light bring out a different scene with the painted characters. 

“An admirer of Pu-on Tim, are you?”

Suki whips back to Bumi, his gaze fixed on the piece hanging at the back of the room. His frail fingers, dazzled with rings of gold and crystal, stroke the frizzled white hair of his beard. He scrunches his eyebrows together and sucks his teeth.

“It cost me an arm and a leg to get these. Do you know how long it takes for those to grow back?” His eyes catch Suki’s expectantly, but she’s wholly unprepared to answer the question. Bumi glances back to the painting and trails toward it. “These are one of a kind. Every brushstroke is as unique as the next.” 

He turns back to her, a light twinkle in his jade eyes. 

“Come. Take a closer look.” 

Suki holds back a sigh. Are they ever going to talk about her work and performance? Or did Bumi just need a buddy to analyze paintings with? 

She rises and makes her way to his side. He gestures to the painting in response to the small, puzzled look she gives him, so she turns to the scroll before her. The painting is clear now, no moving figures or colors. Maybe she was squinting too hard before?

A stark red sun dissolves into a blue river. Thick mountains smother the lazy water, protecting it from the outskirts of an inland battle. Suki identifies the tiny swords and regalia and places this painting at least 900 years old. She moves closer, studyingg a small kayak hidden in the shadows. Two people sit in it, their armour matching the soft waves of the water. A young man and woman. The man is prepared for battle, dressed in sharp armour with a familiar canine inspiration. Suki can only see the profile of the woman, but she catches the curving strokes of black paint on her face. The two make their way up the river, quietly, stoically, checking around for any wayward soldiers. When they reach their destination, they climb out of the kayak and move toward-

Wait. They’re moving?

Before Suki can think further the painting shifts. A rainbow blends into the scroll. Reds, blues, greens, and yellows collide and make the dancing figures indistinguishable. A dais sits at the center, Suki watches it form with small strokes of fresh brown paint. 

She’s trapped in the colors swirling before her eyes, losing all sense of the room, the lights, the man beside her, and even herself. 

The floor gives out beneath her, plunging her into the depths of darkness until she bursts into screeching brightness. Cheers enclose her and she raises a hand to block the rays of light that assault her view. She lowers her hand when her eyes adjust, and the crowd swells to deafening cries. 

She stands on a dais, her body wrapped in a formal green dress with sheathed sword at her waist. She looks beside her, bodies dressed in blue and red and yellow. She knows they’re smiling at the crowd. She knows they’re smiling back at her, but their faces are too blurred. She can’t focus on a single feature.

She turns to a man in blue beside her. His thick hair, tied back above his neck, swings when he meets her eyes. She cannot see him, not really, but she knows he’s smiling at her. She knows he’s crying with her. She feels his fingers snake in between hers. He gives her hand a quick squeeze, and he mouths something to her before retracting himself and raising his hand to the crowd. 

Suki looks out to them now, the masses overwhelming her mind and body. She can’t even conjure up a question as to why she’s even here. But she can feel the sturdy dress against her skin, built for battle. She can hear the crowd before her, crying of joy and freedom. She can see the mountains beyond, a trail of black smoke making its way from a mountain peak to their village. Its speed frightens Suki, yet no one else seems to notice it. 

It is a dense fog of black, of nothingness, and it’s headed straight for her. 

Her feet root themselves to the dais and her arm freezes above her in a salute, trapping her in an image of pride. The beginnings of hyperventilation try to take her. She bites her lip to keep focus, the taste of iron fills her mouth.   
The smoke is closer now and much larger than she thought. A black hole both terrifying and seducing in its endlessness. 

There’s no way out of this. 

Her limbs shake furiously and the crowd gains intensity as the smoke bites at the yards between them. A silent scream escapes her as the blackness takes over, wracking through her body. She shakes and shakes, searing pain soaring through every vein, every vessel until it brings to her knees. 

She is immediately engulfed in arms. Their warmth offers her a moment of solace before she begins to heave.

“If you hated the painting that much you could have just said so.”

Bumi’s voice. Something rings in her ears, it makes her head squeeze and her stomach turn. She wipes her mouth and blinks back wayward tears. She’s back in his office. Her eyes scan the room with fresh scrutiny, the cavern walls, the glowing crystals. Where is he hiding his magic?

“What did you do?” Her body shakes violently and she scratches out every word. She pushes against him but falls back when stars form in her eyes. “What did you do to me?”

“Nothing my dear,” his voice is soft and cautious, “Nothing at all.” 

She whips toward him and glares, ignoring the vertigo that follows. But she shrinks when she catches the look in his eyes, full of questions and answers all wrapped in sympathy. It makes her sick. It makes her want to cry. 

“Time for that tea, eh?” He pats her shoulder.

So she finds herself back at the table, sipping at the delicious black tea that somehow managed to stay warm enough throughout the encounter to burn her tongue. 

Bumi shuffles through papers across from her, hunched over a pile. He lifts a golden eyeglass on a sheet with illegible handwriting and groans. 

“You’d think a bunch of dead historians would avoid having this horrendous level of penmanship,” he chuckles to himself, his gravelly tone grating at Suki’s ears. He freezes, his eyes flash with concern. “What is it?”

For the umpteenth time since Suki has walked through his door, she’s speechless. And she hates it. She is not some meek girl waiting to be told what to do and where to go. Yet this room has shifted the balance in her and she has lost the ability to think straight. 

“What are you?” She settles with a simple question. Or a grand one. She knows Bumi holds power, but she cannot pinpoint which kind. 

“Your boss, first and foremost. So don’t think your little performance is going to get you off duty today,” he wags a finger at her. At Suki’s frown, he drops his hand and sighs. “I am many things. Too many to name. It’s not important.”

“Why did you do that to me? That, painting… thing.”

“I didn’t.” Bumi raises his hands in defense of Suki’s fierce look. “I swear, I didn’t. That experience was completely your own, your connection and your magic. I didn’t even expect it to happen,” he shakes his head to himself, “Though you were always one to do the unexpected.”

“But I don’t have any magic, how could I have done that?”

Bumi inhales deeply and gestures vaguely to the space around him. “I dunno, you certainly had enough to do… whatever you did. Perhaps it’s tied to your memories.”

“Memories?” Her heart slows to a stop. She should end this conversation. She should end it now and walk right out the door. The idea of her having access to her past life is preposterous. Impossible. And a conversation between her and her boss regarding her past life is strictly forbidden. Though he may have access to the past lives and behaviors of every employee, they can never know their own true nature. To ignore those inherent laws is… well, Suki doesn’t want to know what it is but it certainly isn’t good.

However. She can’t stop her mind from spinning. The boy in the blue, bleeding in the snow. The screaming crowds around her. 

Her fear spikes for a quick moment. Does Bumi know? Can he see what’s in her mind? Maybe he’s tied to this, orchestrating this as some sort of test. Maybe none of these visions are real. 

But, no. She looks deep into his eyes, _really_ looks. He’s just as confused as she is. And that gives her a small sense of satisfaction. 

For the first time, she has something to herself. In a lifetime without autonomy, without privacy, something finally belongs to her. Her memories. _Hers_. 

“Must I emphasize the strict communication policy upheld by Organizers like me for the safety and continued prosperity of people like you?” Bumi warily raises his brows. 

Suki brings her attention back to the cup in her hand. She traces the spiralling design with her thumb and gives a quick smile. “I understand it well, thank you.”

“Good,” he says slowly. Suki glances up and he flashes a victorious smile, like a keeper of secrets, or a mad king with the world at his fingertips. It sends a series of icy waves through her body that she holds back with the bite of her tongue. “Change of plans,” he hops up and exits to an adjacent room. She can’t see him, but Suki can hear hum shuffle papers, push desks, and ultimately dial the phone.

“Yes, can you send the thing?” He whispers fiercely, “The _thing._ Send the goddamn _thing_ , Joo Dee!” He groans and slams the phone down. Suki masks her cringing when Bumi reenters the room. He holds up a finger before she can speak, looking up at the ceiling expectantly. 

Two note cards appear before her, lithly floating down into her lap.

“Your other appointments are cleared for the day. These are the only two you need to worry about.” He has that twinkle in his eye, again, and Suki is getting the urge to smack that look off his face. She gets on her feet with the intention of getting out of the room as soon as possible. 

“Great, I’ll get right on it. Thank you again for this… meeting, sir.”

“Of course. I hope to see you again, Suki,” Bumi cackles, a harsh sound filled with youthful joy.

Suki makes her way to the door, giving a quick glance to the first card in her hand.

_Unknown_

She stumbles, grasping the threshold of the door for balance. She snaps back to Bumi, who blows a kiss her way and sends her off with a wave.

* * *

Yue never had a problem seeing the world as it is. Everything seems to lay itself out for her in a clear picture. Where everyone else sees scattered puzzle pieces, she sees a finished work, each part fitting together so seamlessly that it’s impossible to her to think that it existed in any other way. To Yue, the world is simple. It makes sense. 

The thing she struggled most with was accepting it.

She can see the patterns, she knows how stories will unfold before they reach their conclusion. But she fights against it. She tries to. Some endings are not worth seeing.

This is why she’s quiet on the drive back from the city of Kuruk. 

She leans back into the car seat, splitting her time between the lights racing by and the bickering teenaged siblings beside her. Sokka messes with the radio tuner and argues with Katara who believes they should have stayed on the capital's radio station to listen to The Winter Solstices’ latest release. It's nice.

Yue doesn’t have any siblings. Her parents were too anxious and too strung out from her birth and its consequences to even think of having another child. She hopes they’ll be brave enough to bring another child into this world after she’s gone. They’ll finally be free of her nuisances and her curse.

No, it’s not a curse; she refuses to think of it that way. It’s a gift from the gods. A cruel gift, but a gift nonetheless.

“Yue, can you _please_ tell Sokka to change the station?” Katara hangs on the head seat behind Yue, sending a major death glare to her brother at the wheel. He laughs maliciously, changing the station yet again and turning up the volume. Katara kicks the back of his seat, eliciting a stronger laugh and a vengeful whip of the steering wheel that draws a yelp from Yue’s lips. Sokka turns to her immediately, eyes wide and regretful. His hand finds her knee and his thumb draws circles over the thick material of her pants. 

“You okay?” He spares another glance her way, struggling to focus on the road when he so obviously wants to give Yue all of his attention. Her cheeks grow warm and she lays her hand on top of his. 

“I’m fine. Really, I’m fine,” she looks up at him and watches his concern melt into a smile. He leans over to give her a quick peck on the lips before returning his focus to the road, his thumb still soothing her knee. She watches his eyes train on the road ahead, the rays of the setting sun caressing his soft umber skin. She almost says something. Words she’s said before, words she’s said so many times to his back before she was brave enough to say it to his face. It would be different now, because it would be the last time.

But she glances behind her and catches the pout Katara gives her, along with a not so subtle gesture toward Sokka. Yue laughs to herself, and her heart tugs at the secret and absurd language she and Katara have created over the years. 

It makes sense, then, that she would spend her last few moments trying to make her happy. 

“Sokka?” Yue starts, her voice gentle and sweet. She gives his hand a squeeze.

He turns to her immediately, eyebrows high on his head. “Yes, dear?” 

“I kind of want to listen to The Winter Solstices, too,” she shrugs, touched by the small frown that forms on his face. 

“Aw. Okay, fine,” he turns the dial to the right station, groaning at Katara’s whooping laughter. Yue laughs with her, turning back to the road ahead.

This is where the pattern unfolds.

Yue has always seen the world as it is, and it has taken her a long time to stop fighting against it. The universe is vast and fickle, but it always finds a way to correct itself. That is not something one can control, it is definitely not something one can stop. That is why, when the swerving car ahead gains momentum in their direction, she does not warn Sokka.

There are a million scenarios in which she could have tried to stop this. She could have asked Sokka to take another route. She could have asked them to go to Kuruk another day. She could have cancelled this excursion altogether.

But she knows all too well that that would only delay the inevitable. That this would catch up to her one way or another, with varying possibilities of hurting those around her. And she would never forgive herself if someone got hurt on her account. This is the only way. This is the safest way.

It happens quickly, and for that Yue is grateful. She hardly feels anything, just a slight pressure to her head before everything goes white. She wonders if this is what it’s going to be now, just white. Serene. She doesn’t feel connected to anything or anyone. She just exists. 

Then she falls back into her senses with the force of the world.

Horns blare and a thin layer of smoke obscures her view. She turns away from a blinding light aimed directly at her. To her side, she catches a glimpse of the sun dipping into the peak of the mountains beyond. 

An eerie chill runs through her veins. She faces forward, headlights filling her vision. A broken car. 

She’s still here. She’s still at the crash site. 

Her chest tightens as she runs to the side of the car, slashing away at the smoke and her tears. She grabs the side of the car to balance her sudden stop and she feels the crumbled metal burning beneath her hands. Her breath catches as she takes in the sight of her crumbled physical body in the passenger seat.

“N-no!” Sokka tries to push around his seatbelt and reach for Yue’s physical body beside him. “Please,” his strangled voice whispers into her hair stained with red. He struggles to raise his hand, carefully caressing her cheek.

“Sokka,” Yue says to herself, her heart breaking over and over as she watches his blue eyes shine in a way she’s never wanted to see them. But he cannot hear her. And that might be the worst part. 

He pulls away, a new shock overtaking him as he strains his neck behind him. “Katara?”

No, this is the worst part.

Yue’s stomach drops and she releases her grip on the car, falling back to the ground.. Gravel stings at her palms and she quickly pushes herself back up to look for someone, anyone.

She spots the wayward car that hit them to the side of the road, but she’s too frightened by the dented sides to peak inside. A pain begins in her head, a thumping rhythm. _This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was only supposed to be me._

Despite any logical sense, she screams. She screams for help, for safety. She searches the empty road, the pocket of the highway with no life. The nearest house must be miles away. But she screams. She screams at the sun for stealing their light. She screams at the world for being so cruel. She screams at the spirits for making her witness this, for punishing her, because that’s all this could be, and she screams-

Right into a woman’s face.

Yue halts. The woman's red hair flies around her in the wind and she smooths it down, fitting a black fedora on her head. 

“Please. You need to help them,” Yue grabs at her throat, its coarseness and its pain stronger than she realized. 

The woman’s copper eyes slide to the smoking car behind Yue. Her coat flies behind her as strolls past the white-haired girl straight to Katara’s window. Yue jogs to catch up to her, stopping only at the sight of her unconscious physical body. She breathes, taking in the disarray of her frazzled hair and twisted body, and turns to the figure in black at her side.

How can that woman see her?

Yue watches her roll up her sleeves and reach through the window. Katara, barely conscious, tries to look up. Sokka tugs at his sister’s side, vying for her attention, but the girl is compelled by the woman in black.

“It’s time,” the woman says, “You’re coming with me.” 

For a moment, Katara watches her. Then, slowly, her eyes widen. Her breath quickens, escalating to a harrowing scream with small thrashes of her body. Sokka tries to soothe her, but her eyes are locked on the woman before her. 

In that moment, Yue has a realization. And before she can think further, she digs her nails into the woman’s wrists.

Yue can see, now. The determination in the woman’s eyes, the strain of her brows, the singing cold of her skin.

“You’re a Reaper,” Yue whispers. 

The woman turns to say something, the lines on her face growing deeper and more sinister, before her eyes catch on the shaking figure of Sokka in the car who fights against his locked seat belt to hold his sister. The woman’s eyes widen, her face relaxing into a puzzled awe. Yue jumps at this moment.

“You’re here for him, too?” Yue’s pitch rises, her grip tightening on black sleeves. The woman responds with a slight shake of her head. 

“No,” she says, but her eyes hold onto the boy who screams for help as if she’s watching a memory. “Just her and you.”

“Please, don’t take her,” Yue pleads and pulls at the woman's arm, but she doesn’t move. Yue pulls again and again until she falls to her knees, unable to shake the woman off her balance. “Please, please, please,” she continues to pull at the woman, only faltering when her eyes catch Katara’s still figure in the car. “It was only supposed to be me. Me.”

The Reaper straightens and turns her attention back to Katara. “She was always meant for this.” The determination returns in her stance, but a sob from Sokka cracks her facade. 

There are so many things in Yue’s life that she never got to experience or understand, but she was not naive enough to misunderstand the look in the woman’s eyes. 

“If you don’t want to cause him further pain,” Yue whispers, one breath away from breaking apart because she’s found something in common with the woman before her, “Don’t take her, too.”

The woman looks down at Yue with a look that makes Yue’s breath catch. Before the white haired girl can think further, the woman looks beyond Yue, her brows drawing together in something resembling fear. Yue glances behind her and catches the sight of an older woman in green making her way toward them. The Reaper grips Yue’s hand.

“I won’t take her, I promise. But you must come with me. Now.”

Yue looks back to Katara, who’s eyes slowly open to meet Sokka, who nearly collapses in relief. A siren sounds in the distance, and Yue thinks she can see the blue flashes beyond. Tears prick at her eyes and she knows it's foolish to hold them back now, but she can’t stop the impulse of biting her tongue. Her eyelids fall and she takes a deep breath, soaking in the scent of freshly fallen snow and the ocean in the distance. Her heart finds the rhythm of the waves and replicates it, ebbing and flowing with new ease. 

When she opens her eyes, she nods.

****

It is not until Yue wraps her fingers around the handle of her empty teacup that she finally asks, “What is your name?”

The Reaper pauses, her arm raised to tea supplies from a cabinet above the sink. Her brown eyes glow from the sunlight flooding the room. Yue’s tried looking at the window, but the light seems to hide everything beyond this cottage. She’s already admired the hanging plants and the cozy carpet beneath her feet.

The only odd thing about the place is the showcase of finery that decorate the archway leading to the kitchen. Square holes carved into the wall hold teacups that vary in size, shape, color, and design. The one Yue holds in her hands is white with blues and silvers etched into it the ceramic like ribbons wrapping around each other. 

“Suki,” the woman finally says, “My name is Suki.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Yue smiles. Suki’s brows draw together in what looks like curiosity before settling into neutrality. She returns to her seat across from Yue and crosses her legs. She sets her black fedora on the table before speaking.

“Do you know what happens next?” 

Yue shakes her head. “No,” she says plainly. 

“Really?” There’s a tinge of disbelief in Suki’s voice. “But you…”

“I know,” Yue shrugs, “I could see everything in my life up until now. I never really knew what would happen afterward.” 

Suki nods, a small frown grows on her face. “I didn’t know. I don’t have much experience with Seers, so excuse my ignorance.”

“That’s okay,” Yue offers a soft smile and confusion flashes across Suki’s features yet again. She watches Yue for a moment, then looks down to the cup in the girl’s hands.

“May I have that?” Suki asks while organizing pouches of tea leaves in front of her. Yue carefully pushes the cup toward her. 

Suki pours leaves from different sachets onto the table and uses a knife to line them into four rows. Yue is struck by the shades of the leaves; beautiful hues of blue, green, red, and gold that Suki combines in a white marble mortar and crushes together with a pestle. 

Yue’s eyelids flutter closed as she finds herself embraced by the ambience of crackling leaves. When a sweet and grounded scent overwhelms her sense, she opens her eyes again. The white cup is within her reach, filled to the brim with a glittering substance. Yue meets Suki’s eyes.

“So, I drink this?” 

A sigh builds in a Suki, not one of boredom, but of reluctant duty. 

“Only if you want to.”

Yue watches the liquid ripple from her shifting under the table, every color under the sun sparkling under the light. 

“Really?” Her amber fingers graze the handle of her cup. “What happens if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll carry your memories from this life onto the next.”

Yue pauses. So she _will_ have another life. “Is that bad?”

Suki crosses her arms and her gaze turns to the rows and rows of teacups on the wall. Her fiery hair glows in the light, and Yue is struck by how young Suki looks. She can’t be more than a few years older than her.

“In a way, yes,” Suki tilts her head to the shadows, “When humans commit crimes against their own, we rescind their choice to forget their mistakes. They must carry them into the next life. They cannot escape them, they cannot outgrow them. It is both a lesson and a curse.”

“But some people do choose it?”

“Yes,” in one swift movement Suki is leaning over the table, eyes narrowing, “But I can assure you that it never turns out well.”

Yue lifts her hands in defense. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

Suki raises a brow.

“I swear! I just…” Yue’s gaze drops to her cup, and she finds herself tracing the rim. She hears Suki sit back and hum. Yue hopes Suki can’t see the tears pricking her eyes. “Do you still have your memories?”

Yue only looks at Suki when she doesn’t respond. The woman in black, so stoic and firm, turns away with an expression so crestfallen that Yue feels her heart break. 

“You don’t have to-”

“Our memories are wiped before we become reapers,” Suki puts her mask of neutrality back on.

“So you were human before?”

“Yes.”

“And you chose to-”

“We don’t choose to become reapers,” Suki snaps, bowing her head when she catches a glance of Yue’s shock. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Yue can’t find it in herself to respond. It’s like her vision is fogged, and she grasps around for the right words but grasps at thin air.

“We do not choose this,” Suki says after a long moment, “We are chosen. When one… When a person commits an irredeemable act, the gods rescind their remaining lives and force them into servitude through the act of reaping. Our memories are taken so that our previous actions cannot cloud our judgement. We are servants to the gods, and that is all.”

Yue closes her mouth. She doesn’t quite know how to respond to that. Who’s to disagree with the gods? But the sorrow swirling in Suki’s brown eyes makes her want to say otherwise.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything” Suki takes a deep breath, “It’s the least we deserve.”

But Yue isn’t so sure about that.

Suki awkwardly tidy’s up in front of her, brushing leaves back into pouches and returning them to the cabinets. Yue looks down to the teacup in her hands.

“You don’t have to go immediately,” Suki closes the cabinet and turns to Yue. 

“I don’t?” 

“No, we can… We can talk. If you want.”

Something about the suggestion makes Yue giggle. Maybe it’s the awkwardness of the situation, or because a Reaper of all beings is trying to comfort her.

“Do you usually do that? Talk with people before they...” Yue says between giggles.

“No. But, I have nothing else to do today.” Suki offers her a brief smile. “So, tell me about your life.”

“ _All_ of it?”

“Whatever you want. Whatever’s important.”

Yue thinks. What was important? Her accomplishments? Her dreams?

“I was born in the sea,” she finds herself saying. “My parents were told that was the only way I could live. So when my mother’s contractions began they took her straight to the water. It didn’t take too long. When I came out, they thought my hair was reflecting the moonlight before they realized that it was actually white. It was a sign from Tui. I was under her protection. So, they named me after her.” 

“A strong name for a worthy person. You’ve honored the moon spirit with your existence.” 

Yue blushes. “Thank you.” She plays with the ends of her hair.

“What else?” Suki’s voice is soft, so warm, Yue cannot help but pull her heart open, spilling every memory, every thought, every desire that ever stuck to her mind. 

She speaks about her mother setting beads in her hair, her father smoking fish for the community, her grandparents adorning her with jewels and clothing from a time she could never fathom. She speaks of her loneliness at school after her family moved south, her self-isolation. Her budding friendship with Katara, and later, Sokka. She remembers them sledding into trees, hiding baby otter-penguins in her backyard until her mom caught them. The dinners at Katara’s home, Sokka throwing sausage pieces into his sister's hair. She remembers the moments she tried to hide her gift of sight from her family. From Katara and Sokka, even when they needed it most. She will always hold onto her ever growing love for Sokka, for Katara.

“But S-Sokka was your partner, correct?” 

Yue nods, noting how Suki stumbles over his name. “Yes. He was.” They watch each other. Suki is the first to look away.

“Do you know him?” There was a time when Yue wouldn’t think of being so direct with a stranger, but time has stopped and she has changed. 

Suki coughs. The silence stretches on but Yue will not relent. There was something in Suki’s eyes when she looked at Sokka that was strangely personal, and Yue couldn’t understand why.

“No,” Suki says softly, abruptly. She bites at her lip. “I don’t know.”

Somehow, Yue finds comfort in this. After a lifetime of knowing what lies ahead, she will still leave this life with unanswered questions.

But, she does have just one more question.

“Will I be a seer in my next life?”

“No,” Suki's features soften now that they’re back in more comfortable territory. “It was a gift from the moon spirit, but it was only for this lifetime.”

Yue exhales and her tears release. She is free. 

Suki reaches over the table to squeeze her hand. Yue squeezes back, then wipes her tears away. She mouths _thank you_ and Suki shrugs. They sit in silence as she composes herself. She stares at her teacup, the steam kissing the air. Her eyes follow the twisting lines of silver and blue on the cup again, stopping before they meet.

“Has anyone else used this cup?” There’s a small chip in the blue line as it runs into the silver. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Like someone scraped at it with their nail.

“It was made for you and you only.”

“But there’s a chip.”

Suki holds back a smile. “Because it’s been used before.”

Yue’s eyes widen, dozens of questions race to the forefront of her mind. The knowing look in Suki’s eyes releases a million more questions. Yue’s eyes travel the room again, the cups on the wall, the chimes hanging from the ceiling, the fur rugs beneath her feet, the light pouring in through the window with no sun. Her mouth tries to form a question but all she can do is laugh. So _this_ is what it feels like. This is what it’s like to live without Sight. Everything is bright and unknown and overwhelming. 

She likes it.

“Okay,” she wraps her hands around the teacup. “I think I’m ready.”

Suki raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Well, I can’t stay here forever,” Yue almost giggles, but she remembers her mother and father, and how they must be mourning her. She thinks of Katara and Sokka, and the trauma they endured. She sets the cup down. “Can I ask something of you?”

Suki tilts her head, her brows furrowing in thought, then nods. 

“Can you watch over them? If you can. I know that isn’t your job but…” Yue recalls how Suki looked at Sokka. “I think it’s within your power.”

“I can’t stop them from dying,” Suki warns. Her pale fingers twitch in discomfort.

“I know. But can you just make sure they’re okay?”

Suki closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’ll see what I can do, okay? But it’s no promise.”

“That’s more than enough,” Yue looks down to the shimmering liquid in her cup. Shadows move across the surface, tiny figures of people. She brings the cup to her lips and downs it.

She looks around the room when she is done. “I don’t feel any different.”

Suki nods to the window behind her. But when Yue looks, the window is now part of a door. She frowns, throwing a puzzled glance to Suki.

“I just walk through that door?” 

“Whenever you're ready.” 

Yue licks her lips and allows her feet to drag her to the threshold. She turns back to Suki, who holds her fedora to her chest and bows. “It was an honor to meet you, Yue of the Southern Water Tribe, blessed child of Tui.”

There’s a part of Yue that wants to stay. But what could she possibly do? Beg the spirits for another chance at life? Sit in Suki’s kitchen for the rest of eternity?

Yue takes a shaky breath. All she wants to do is run back home. Maybe she should have tried to change her fate, anyway. She’s spent her whole life doing the right thing, for her family and friends, for the greater plans of the gods. She was never able to put herself _first_. In another timeline, Yue could be home right now, kissing Sokka goodbye on her doorstep while Katara teased them. She’d open the door to her mother cooking her famous sea prune stew, her father chopping vegetables and trying to make his wife laugh because he loved her so much. 

“You know,” Suki’s gentle voice pulls Yue out of her thoughts, “I once had an older client who couldn’t wait to move one. I swear, she was the fastest one out the door. I had asked her before she left why it was so easy for her. When I had poured her tea, she spoke only of her friends and her wife, how much she loved them all. I couldn’t understand how it was so easy for her to move on.”

Yue wiped at a few stray tears. “What did she say?”

“She said that when the wind blew a certain way, a certain scent caught her nose, or when her eyes met a stranger on the street, she always wondered why her heart would catch. Why something new could be so familiar. And because I had told her about her previous life, she knew those moments were memories from her life before. Memories her past life held onto, the scent of loved ones, souls she once knew passing by as strangers. It was a gift, she said. In those moments, she soared because she lived. And she would live again, with her new life and her new memories. Because her old life never ended. It blended into the new one. Her love for others and their love for her would always stay with her, always nurture her in the moments she least expected it. And that’s what life was, to her. Love over time.”

Yue’s hands covered her face, and when her breathing calmed she wiped her face dry. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Suki places a hand over her heart, a gesture so sweet that Yue can't stop herself from hugging the woman in black. Suki freezes but Yue pulls tighter, knowing deep down how much they both need the hug. Slowly, Suki hugs back. Her touch is light, her hands hovering over Yue’s waist. But she reciprocates, and that’s all Yue can hope for.

“I hope you find peace,” Yue says when they pull back. Suki’s eyes widen at the impossible wish and Yue squeezes her hand. 

Yue turns back to the door, her soul lighter and her breath heavier. She reaches for the knob. She has the urge to turn back again, but she knows that will only delay the inevitable. She smiles to herself. Where will this new life lead her?

She turns the knob.

* * *

_Interlude_

Right as his hand wraps around the doorknob, he’s pulled back by his sleeve and gently hushed.

“Aang,” his uncle says, “You must wait for me to ring the doorbell.”

Aang pouts, aware of his misstep but eager to get inside. He’s supposed to make a new friend today and he _loves_ making new friends. His Uncle Iroh has been telling him about this day for years- “This meeting will make a special day, my boy. A day that marks the rest of your lifetime,” he’d say. Which Aang believes wholeheartedly because every friend has the potential to change one’s life. 

Uncle rings the doorbell once, twice. The older man shifts from side to side, clutching a soft red coat close to his body. His uncle could never handle the cold well, the mittens on his hands and scarf wrapped to his nose provided nothing but an illusion of warmth. Aang would have to make sure they got tea as soon as they got inside. 

“Are you sure he’s here?” Aang asks, squinting into the windows beside the door. It’s near impossible to make anything out through the tinted glass, but Aang believes he can see flickers of small candles. 

“He’s here. Probably locked in his study.” Iroh hunches into himself, rubbing his hands together for warmth. Aang frowns. What kind of person leaves their friend out in the cold? Maybe he forgot. Or maybe he can’t hear them. 

Aang pounds on the door. “HELLO SIR MISTER AANG AND UNCLE IROH ARE HERE TO SEE YOU SIR!”

Aang steps back and waits. He throws a smile to Iroh, too tired to stop the boy, and glances back at the door. Are those footsteps he hears?

Yes!

A grin grows on his face. Aang’s been hearing about this man his whole life. Very kind, very wise, a man with a soft demeanor and dominant presence. He imagines the man looks like an older version of him. Or, maybe the man looks like Uncle. Aang sneaks another glance at the old man. Maybe he’s Uncle’s twin!

The door swings open and a cold front seems to blow out from inside. “I heard you the first time, was all that banging really necessary?” The man huffs.

Aang steps back. He takes in the man before him:, dark hair, molten eyes, the scar on his face, and the pursed lips that twist with annoyance. “What are you standing around for?” He steps aside and Iroh immediately shuffles in and removes his coat and boots. “Well? Get in.” He says to Aang, who looks up at him curiously. The boy debates sticking his tongue out, but decides to give the man another chance. He steps inside.

Aang’s head rolls back as he searches for the ceiling of the foyer. The windows above make it appear as if the roof is actually made of snow. This makes Aang giggle. 

A whistling tea kettle snaps him out of his observations. He is now alone in the foyer, so he rips off his boots and searches for the kitchen, the growing scent of jasmine leading the way. He finds the two men in the wide kitchen, separated by a long table scattered with papers. The man brews the tea at the stove and Iroh rummages through each sheet. He narrowly misses the candles that hang directly above him as he reaches for the papers around him. 

“You’re back on this again?” Iroh shakes his head at the paper in his hand. 

The man sighs, glaring at the falling snow through the window. “I’m just double checking.”

“Some of these notes are new,” Iroh gives the man a pointed look, and the man pointedly ignores him by watering the plants that hang above the sink. Iroh turns to Aang and the old man’s face lights up.

“My boy! Come, come, take a seat,” Iroh sets the papers to this side and pulls out a seat for Aang at the head of the table. Aang tries to make himself comfortable in it, but the chair is much too large for his body and the dark wood is far too cold for him to feel welcome. He zips his coat closer to his neck. He helps his Uncle set the papers aside to make room for the tea. Aang’s eyes glaze over the excerpts containing varying instructions on how to kill immortal beings. 

Aang’s brows draw together in concern, his eyes rising to meet his Uncle’s, who shakes his head and brings a finger to his own lips.

Aang is not a judgemental person, and he believes that there is a silver lining to every situation. But even he must admit that this man is _strange_. 

The scarred man sets a tray of teacups down. “Sit, Uncle,” he says, which confuses Aang further. Uncle Iroh isn’t technically Aang’s uncle; he is a good friend of his guardian Gyatso. Gyatso wants Aang to have a worldly education, and Ba Sing Se has the most diverse schooling in the world. So, Aang has been spending the school year with Iroh for the past three years. They have become close- Iroh caring for him as attentively as Gyatso would. That is how the affectionate name of Uncle came to be.

But why does the man also call him Uncle? Iroh has no surviving relatives, of which Aang is sure. And Iroh never mentioned this man being any closer than a friend.

“Young Aang, did you hear him?”

Aang blinks out of his pondering, his eyes focusing on the jasmine tea in his hands and the mysterious man across the table. Aang cannot read auras, but the man has a very dark air about him. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” he meets the man’s eyes. “Can you repeat that?”

“How old are you, now?” The man asks, and Aang is once again shocked by the man. This time it is because of his gentle tone, the way his words are wrapped in an apology. This confuses Aang, but he also thinks he’s starting to understand what his uncle meant. 

“I’m twelve. My birthday’s in a few months, though.”

The man nods. Aang becomes acutely aware of the softness in this moment, how their words float above them and dance across the room. He sees Iroh bend his head down in exhaustion, though it looks as though he’s beginning a prayer. The man across the table takes a long sip of his tea, and Aang feels his own nails bite into the legs of his chair. There was no question asked, yet he is desperately waiting for an answer. Distantly, he hears a clock ticking in another room, muted cars driving by.

“You will begin your training next week,” the man sets his cup down. Iroh sighs in relief and Aang follows suit, though he doesn’t really understand why. Was this a test? If so, it definitely seems like he passed. His fingers wrap around his teacup and he takes a long sip, savoring the sweet jasmine on his tongue. Iroh grabs his hand when he sets his cup down, squeezing it with pride. Aang might not know what’s happening, but his trust in Iroh is genuine and full so he will extend that to the man before him.

“What should I call you?” Aang asks. The man rises and takes his cup to the sink. 

“Sir is just fine,” he says as he turns the faucet on. Aang turns to his Uncle and gives him the _Is he serious?_ look, to which Iroh returns with a _Yes, just do as he says_ look. Their silent conversation is interrupted by a light crash of the cup on the sink, the two turning to the man whose gentle hands gripped the counter. His venomous eyes targeted something out the window. Aang shot out of the chair to see what was wrong, Iroh hobbling behind him.

“What is it?” Iroh asks, because there is nothing out there besides the occasional turtleduck waddling into the small pond in the yard.

“A Reaper,” the man says, and Iroh turns to him in fear. Aang considers himself quite smart for his age and knows a lot of words, but, unfortunately, this is one that is not in his vocabulary.

“Really?” Iroh tries looking out the window again, “Are they here for us?” His voice drops to a whisper.

“No,” the man grits his teeth. “She’s passing by. Though she has _no place around here_!” His voice rises, as if arguing with someone. Aang peaks around him again to see if maybe there is a person there, hiding in the shadows, but still he sees nothing. 

The man recoils, causing Aang and Iroh to jump back. 

“What, what?” Iroh looks between the man and the empty yard.

“She’s threatening me.”

“Well, don’t threaten her back!” Iroh’s voice jumps an octave higher.

“Why don’t you take that dumb hat off and we’ll see how tough you are!” The man shouts at the window, and Aang is pretty sure that was a threat. Iroh sighs and shakes his head.

“Sir, I think it best if we leave her be-”

The man throws a middle finger to the window and Iroh quickly covers Aang’s eyes. “Sir!” Iroh chastises.

“She started it!” The man whines. Then he groans and takes a steadying breath. “Sorry. You both didn’t need to see that.” 

“Is she gone?” Iroh whispers.

“Yes, she’s gone.”

Iroh removes his hand from Aang’s eyes and caresses the boy’s bald head. When Iroh truly looks at him, his expression morphs into puzzlement. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Aang can feel the tips of his smile reach his eyes. And if he could, he’d smile wider. He turns to the man called ‘Sir’, scarred and cold with hints of kindness. The man who can apologize one moment and terrorize the next. Aang’s never met anyone like him. And he doesn’t know if he will ever meet another like him. This makes him the greatest friend Aang will ever have.

“This is going to be _so_ much fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm... are there TOO many pov's? I'm not sure if I care but if it gets confusing in the next few chapters, lemme know!


End file.
